


A Good Thing

by Scappodaqui, tinzelda



Series: Scraps [10]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Artist Steve Rogers, Bad Dirty Talk, Bad Puns, Bucky's Island, Chekhov's Threesome Fantasy, Darn tiny European bathtubs, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic but Inept Dirty Talk, Escapism, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Foreshadowing, Frank talk, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Humor, Kink Negotiation, Laughter During Sex, Letters, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Protective Steve Rogers, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Shameless Smut, Steve spills his sundae, Symbolism, Twelve Thousand Words of Entirely Fluffy Sex, Voyeurism, Wartime, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scappodaqui/pseuds/Scappodaqui, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shut up.” Bucky’s voice came out muffled from underneath the pillow. “I don’t know what the hell I’m saying at times like that.”</p><p>“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Steve yanked the pillow away. Bucky was trying hard not to smile. “Cause sometimes I wonder if I’m doing it right if you can still think enough to talk so much.”</p><p>“I’m not really thinking. That’s the problem.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“It’s a good thing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Thing

Bucky’d been gone for over an hour, a slip of paper with the address of their inn clutched in his hand, before Steve managed to escape himself. He’d asked around about a room and been pleased to hear about one with its own bathroom and even a tub. Bucky would like that.

Just having some time on their own was enough for Steve, usually, but he’d noticed that a nice long soak seemed to help Bucky shake off whatever had happened in the field a little faster. And this had been a rough one for Bucky. He’d been perched high in a tree throughout the night waiting for his shot, and for a while in the wee hours there’d been sleet. February had started off cold, damp, and miserable.

Sure enough, when Steve opened the door, he found the bedroom empty. Bucky was already in the bathroom, soaking in steaming water. He must have heard Steve come in but didn’t stir.

He had his head tipped back on the edge of the tub and was slouched down to get as much of his body under the water as possible. His wet hair was swept back from his forehead. Steve stood in the doorway just to look at him. Just to enjoy the swell of gratitude he felt to be in exactly this place in exactly this moment with Bucky. A little reprieve.

“Bucky?”

Steve said it quietly in case Bucky was actually asleep, but he opened his eyes and gave Steve a lazy smile.

Steve knelt on the floor and bent down to kiss Bucky’s neck. As he straightened he noticed that his sleeve had left a smear of mud on Bucky’s shoulder. “Sorry. I’m still all dirty.”

“I never mind it when you get dirty.”

Steve huffed out a laugh as he rose to peel off his filthy uniform, then stepped into the water. Bucky bent his knees to make room for Steve to sit down, but even with the big old-fashioned tub, it was a tight fit. Almost as soon as Steve picked up the soap, Bucky grabbed it, soaping up a washcloth. Steve was about to protest—he wanted to keep Bucky all lazy—but the objection died in his throat when he felt the warm cloth on his skin. Steve just groaned, ducked his head, and let Bucky work the suds over his neck and shoulders.

Once he was clean, he leaned back against Bucky’s chest. It was a little awkward. Bucky had to half wrap his legs around Steve’s waist to make room, but he draped his arms over Steve’s chest and nuzzled a little at the top of Steve’s head.

Steve wanted to let Bucky relax, but the feeling of his body naked and wet all along Steve’s back made it hard to keep still. As he twisted around so they could kiss, he banged his knee hard into the side of the tub and sent small waves across the surface of the water. Bucky tilted his chin a little for the kiss but didn’t lift his head.

Steve let his mouth trail down over Bucky’s jaw to his neck, sucking at the skin under his ear. He wanted to press close so that he could push against Bucky’s hips, but the angle was all wrong. Instead he slid one hand down and brushed his knuckles over Bucky’s dick.

Bucky let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. Then a snort of laughter. “Steve, I think this is fondue. All warm and melted.”

Steve groaned. “Not that again.”

“I can't believe you asked Howard Stark what he meant by fondue.”

Steve moved his hand to Bucky’s thigh and gave it a squeeze. “Hey, I was curious. You always say, the spirit of scientific inquiry . . .”

Bucky was grinning now, and he had a gleam in his eye. This time when Steve kissed him, he shoved forward to meet him halfway, but when they parted, he slipped back into his sleepy slouch.

“You really okay?” Steve asked quietly.

“Sure.”

“You were out there a long time in that weather.”

“So were you,” Bucky said. “So were all the guys.”

“Yeah, but we were moving around, keeping warm.”

“I was okay.”

There was a slight edge to Bucky’s voice, a bit of a warning, but Steve couldn’t let it go just yet, not completely.

“What do you do all that time while you’re waiting?”

Bucky opened his left eye just a sliver. “Sometimes just see what I’m seeing. I have to keep focused, you know . . . but sometimes.” His eye closed again. “Sometimes, if I can get my mind right, and I know I can see what’s coming and hear every little sound, I get to drift a bit. Make up stories. Pretend I’m on another planet, so all the sounds seem new again. It isn’t distracting, actually, it sometimes helps me hear more of what’s really there.”

Bucky’d always liked to lose himself in stories. If he couldn’t get his hands on a pulp novel or see a movie, he’d make them up himself. When they were kids, Bucky’d always been the one to plan out their pretend scenarios: knights, pirates, or cops and robbers.

Steve kissed him again. When he teased with his tongue, Bucky parted his lips and his hand came up to card through Steve’s hair, but his movements were languid. Steve pulled back.

Bucky opened his eyes and smiled. “Maybe you should get your pal Frank over here. 'Cause I might be too tired.”

He teased about Frank every now and then. Steve couldn’t quite figure out how to feel about it.

“Hey,” Bucky continued, “you never told me about that party.”

“I did.” Steve turned around again. It was too awkward trying to twist around and face Bucky when he just slipped back every time. “I told you about meeting James Whale.”

“C’mon, Steve.”

“And I told you about everyone skinny dipping. It was very shocking.”

Steve said it primly, to make Bucky laugh, but instead he sighed. Steve looked over his shoulder. Bucky really looked exhausted, his head lolling back on the lip of the tub.

“You too tired? For real?”

Bucky’s eyes sprang open. “Naw, I’m all right. But I do want to hear about that party.”

“Okay.” The washcloth was still floating around in the water, and it brushed against Steve’s leg. He draped it over the side of the tub near their feet. He put a hand on Bucky’s knee and noticed that the water was dirty, cloudy with soap. “Think there’d be enough hot water to fill the tub again?”

“Stee-eeve,” Bucky said in a sing-song.

“What?”

“You’re stalling.”

“No, I—”

Bucky gave Steve a hard poke with one finger, just under his ribs.

“I just don’t know what to say.” Steve never felt any shyness about doing anything Bucky wanted, but he couldn’t seem to talk about it without getting embarrassed.

“Just tell me what you saw. People were skinny dipping, and . . .”

“Well, it seemed like everyone was naked or half-dressed. And lots of guys were . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Touching each other. Kissing.”

“Is that where Frank kissed you?”

“No,” Steve felt his face grow warm. “That was before. At his apartment.”

Bucky snorted again. “You went to his apartment?”

“Yeah, so?”

“And it never occurred to you what he was after?”

“We’re both artists. I thought he was going to show me his work. We used to sit around and draw each other on set.”

Bucky was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “You drew each other?”

“Yeah.” Steve felt a twinge of guilt; obviously this bothered Bucky more than the kissing.

“Is he a good artist?”

Frank was actually quite good, but Steve hesitated before answering. “He’s okay.”

“I guess he had a good subject, though,” Bucky said.

He sighed again, then shook his head and gave Steve half a smile. He was acting like it didn’t bother him. Steve realized the simple truth would have been better rather than hedging.

“I really just thought it was just for the art. I didn’t know he had ideas about . . .”

“Geez, Steve.”

“Okay, I know _now_ that I was being a little naive.”

“A little?” Bucky’s voice was fond.

Steve twisted around again to see Bucky’s face.

“Come on, tell me more," Bucky said. "Tell me about the party.”

“Okay.” It was harder to talk about it when he was looking Bucky right in the eye. “I saw two men back in the trees. They were . . .” Steve couldn’t quite bring himself to continue. “They were . . . you know.”

Bucky chuckled and nudged Steve’s ribs with his knee. “Fucking?”

“Yes,” Steve said, relieved. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

When Bucky heard that, he lifted his head, a sly smile on his face. “But you did?” His leg rubbed up and down Steve’s side. “Did you like watching?”

Steve turned away but Bucky sat up and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist.

“Bucky—”

“Did you get hard?” Bucky pressed close, pushing his dick against Steve’s back. After a series of sucking kisses to the back of Steve’s neck, he breathed into Steve’s ear, “Did you?”

Steve nodded. He leaned back, reaching behind him and pulling Bucky even closer.

“What else did you see?” Bucky whispered. His hips were moving in slow arcs, rubbing his dick against Steve’s skin. “Tell me.”

“There were two fellas hanging on the side of the pool, kissing and . . . you know . . . pushing up against each other.”

“Like this? Like I’m doing to you, right now?” Bucky nipped at Steve’s earlobe. They slid lower in the tub, skin squeaking against the wet side of it.

“Yeah.” Steve took a shuddering breath. “Yeah, like that. But face to face, right there in the pool in front of everyone, and another guy was sitting right next to them, watching them. After a minute, he got in the water and came up close, and they just pulled him in and started kissing him too.”

“Holy—” Bucky’s arms went tight around Steve’s body.

“What?”

“Don’t you think that’s—?” Bucky grabbed Steve and pulled him back, twisting his neck to kiss him, hard. “Christ, maybe we _should_ get that Frank over here.”

Steve pulled away, bracing one hand on the edge of the tub so he could turn. “You’re not serious.” The idea made something tense up in the pit of his stomach. “You wouldn’t really . . . ?”

Bucky rolled his eyes sheepishly, but he shrugged.

“You wouldn’t be jealous?” Steve said. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stomach seeing another man’s hands on Bucky. He’d spent too many evenings as a wallflower, watching Bucky dance with countless pretty girls.

“No, I—” Bucky drew back to look at Steve and then tilted his head in for a kiss. When they parted lips, he said, “I like to watch, too, I just . . . But I mostly like looking at _you_.”

“Just looking?” Steve said.

“Yeah, I guess the rest is okay, too.” Bucky smiled, lips still red and wet from the kiss. When he spoke again, he sounded a little wistful. “Really, I wish I could just touch you more. It’s been a while.”

Steve kissed him again, fiercely this time, pushing him up against the side of the tub. Some water splashed out onto the floor. Bucky was pushing back, but they kept sliding sideways. Steve felt him shivering a little, too. The water had gone tepid.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Steve said. “Or you’ll catch pneumonia.”

“You say that to _me_ , punk?”

“Come on, there’ll be more baths. I’ll get you another one tomorrow.”

Steve climbed out first, surprised at how much the water level lowered once he had gotten out, and turned to grab towels for them both. When he turned back, Bucky was looking at him with a particular kind of light in his eye.

“I wish I could draw,” Bucky said.

“You’ve got the real thing right here,” Steve said. But he felt the same way. Even though he could draw, and Bucky always said how good he was, he felt like he hadn’t captured Bucky the way he wanted to. He’d tried so many times without him there. He had even let his imagination get away from him a little. He resolved to try again soon, now he had Bucky right in front of him.

“I do,” Bucky said. He ducked his head to scrub the water out of his hair; when he lowered the towel his hair was sticking up all over and he was grinning wickedly at Steve. Water pooled just over his collarbone and slid down the plane of his chest.

Before he got into bed, Steve rummaged in his bag for the jar of Vaseline. When he straightened and turned, Bucky was watching him. Steve hesitated. Bucky had said how tired he was. Maybe he wouldn’t want to.

But Bucky grinned. “Get over here.” He took the jar from Steve’s hands and set it on the little table by the bed while Steve slipped under the covers. “Warm me up first,” Bucky said as he shoved up close. “Then I’ll get _you_ nice and warm.”

Steve wrapped his arms tightly around Bucky’s shoulders.

When Bucky next spoke, his voice was muffled against Steve’s chest. “I figured you’d get the watching thing.”

“Why’s that?” Steve asked.

“You spend a lot of time just _looking_ when you’re drawing, right?”

“I guess, but it’s not exactly the same—”

“And you liked watching those guys at the party.”

“Yeah, okay. But not being watched. I don’t know about that.”

“You don’t mind when I look at you,” Bucky said. “At least I hope you don’t.”

“Of course not. But that’s different. It’s _you_. And I know that in a minute we’ll be . . . doing something, not just watching.” Steve slid one hand down Bucky’s back, rubbing the chilled skin to warm it. “You know one time Bill walked in on me?"

“The guy who played Hitler?"

“Yeah. We shared a room a lot, and I was—well, I had that silk you sent me.”

“Yeah?” Bucky pressed closer. “What were you doing with it? I can tell you what I did with it . . . but I wanna hear this first.”

“I was . . . well, I kind of had it . . . I was, you know, touching myself, and—” Steve ran his fingers through his hair. “You know, this isn’t like the party. It wasn’t fun. It was embarrassing.”

“Come on, what's so embarrassing? All the times Dugan's caught me out—”

“He just barged into the room, and I was sitting there, naked. I had that damn silk over my face.” Steve’s cheeks burned when he admitted that, but when Bucky didn’t say anything, he rushed to continue. “So I didn’t even realize he was _there_.”

“Okay . . . on the one hand, you’re right, that’s a little _awkward_. On the other hand. . .” Bucky slid his hand down over Steve’s chest and stomach, teasing as he went lower. “It’s pretty funny. It is.”

Steve thought Bill would disagree. He pictured poor Bill’s face as he stood frozen in the doorframe. He was already in costume, with his stupid fake mustache over the shocked circle of his open mouth. But it was ridiculous, wasn’t it?

“Hitler walking in on Captain America?” Bucky said. “That could win the war right there.”

“Win the war for which _side_?”

“Our side. Did he say anything? When he saw you?”

“No, he just made a noise,” Steve said, remembering it, the cross between a throat-clearing cough and a dignified harrumph. Steve had whipped the cloth off as fast as he could and bunched it in his hand, hurrying to make sure he folded up the letter he’d had open on the bedside, too. He couldn’t let Bill see that he’d been looking at a letter from Bucky while he was doing _that_.

“See, if someone could shut Hitler up like that the Nazis probably wouldn’t know what to do with themselves,” Bucky said.

Steve smiled despite himself. “He wasn’t really Hitler. Bill’s not a bad guy.”

“I bet it turned out fine. I bet he didn’t even bring it up.”

“Well, he started knocking before he came in, but he didn’t have to—I was more careful after that. And then he went home.”

“So good, so what’s the big deal?” Bucky levered himself up on one elbow, teasing Steve’s dick a little with his other hand. Then he pushed at Steve, rocking him over onto his back. Steve had to let him do it, shifting his own weight to help. Bucky slung a leg over him. “And on the _other_ hand—

“That’s the third hand there, Buck.”

“—what I want to hear about is what you were thinking with that silk on your face.”

Bucky leaned over from his straddle, cupped Steve’s face in his hands, and huffed a hot breath out into his mouth. Steve’s mouth was open, too, waiting for a kiss, but Bucky just grinned and kept talking.

“You were thinking about me all on top of you? All over you?”

Steve craned his neck up, trying to get to Bucky’s mouth. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_?”

Steve couldn’t think. He was hard already, and his hips were moving up toward Bucky’s warm weight. Bucky inched back down his body and reached a hand in between Steve’s thighs. He slid it up slowly. At first his fingers felt cold and left a shivering trail on his skin, but they warmed as Bucky brought them up to cup his balls.

“I don’t—” Steve gave a little frustrated groan. Bucky was going so slowly. “I don’t think about things like you do. I don’t make up whole stories. Come on, Bucky.” He thrust forward between their bodies.

“But you make plans,” Bucky said. His hand slid back, and he started to tease Steve open. “You find recipes. Hey, gimme the jam.”

“Bucky—”

Steve flailed blindly for the Vaseline on the table, and Bucky grabbed it. Steve watched him open the jar and dip into it with his fingers. Even though Bucky’s hands weren’t on him yet, Steve could already feel a warmth spreading through him in anticipation. At first, he’d had romantic ideas about how it would feel to have Bucky as close as possible, as close as two people could physically be, but when it came down to it, Steve hadn’t even thought about any of that. It simply felt good—the hot, tight stretch of it, being filled, stroked from the inside. The heat that spread through his whole body as Bucky pushed into him. Hearing Bucky’s breath, his groans. Wonderfully overwhelming, it hadn’t left Steve much room for thinking.

Bucky settled down on the bed, his dick pressed against Steve’s leg. He bent his head for a kiss as he reached between Steve’s legs again. But Bucky’s slick fingers teased, circling, until Steve gave another impatient groan. Bucky chuckled and finally pushed inside with two fingers at once, making Steve gasp. He rocked his hips back against Bucky’s hand a couple of times, but then stopped himself—he could come just from that, but he wanted Bucky inside him.

“Come on, I’m ready.”

“What’s the rush?”

Rather than answer, Steve pulled away and rolled onto his stomach. He grabbed a pillow, shoving it under his hips so he’d have something to push into. He felt desperate for Bucky’s hands on his skin. After a few moments of waiting, he opened his eyes and twisted to look over his shoulder, wondering what the hell Bucky was waiting for.

Bucky was up on his knees, lip caught between his teeth, running a hand slowly up and down the length of his dick. When he caught Steve looking at him, he grinned. “See? You do like to watch.”

“C’mon, Bucky, please.”

“Hold your horses.”

“My _horses_?”

“Sh . . . punk. Do I gotta get another guy in here—”

“No.” Steve drew one leg up, bending his knee. “I want you in here. _Please_.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hips and slowly started to push in. Steve closed his eyes and kept still, focused on letting the edge of tight pain melt away.

Bucky was bent over Steve’s back. He was whispering something so quietly Steve couldn’t make it out. He lifted his head and strained to hear.

“. . . you’ve got like eight hundred horsepower in there. Oh God, Steve, you feel so good—”

Steve gasped out, “No horses—”

“Oh, you want me to stop?” Bucky did stop then, his whole body going still.

“No, God.” Steve thrust forward into the pillow, then pushed back on Bucky’s dick, trying to get him deeper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“You want more, huh?” Bucky murmured. But he still wasn’t moving. “You getting nice and hot?”

“Yeah, more.” Steve pushed his hips into the pillow again, the worn cotton soft against his dick.

Bucky tucked his hand into the crease between Steve’s updrawn thigh and his hip, getting traction, and Steve arched his back up, moving to meet him. Steve moaned as Bucky gave a slow but forceful push forward.

“Like that? God, you feel hot.”

“Just like that.” Steve tried to push back again, but Bucky’s hand was tight on his hip, holding him steady. “Keep going. Please, Buck, c’mon.”

Bucky’s grip slackened, letting Steve move as he wanted, shoving back hard until Bucky’s hips were flush against his ass. He could hear Bucky’s hitched breaths as he started moving too, falling into an easy rhythm punctuated by squeaking complaints from the bedsprings. Already Steve could feel the warmth saturating his limbs.

“There’s just—there’s so much of you—” Bucky was panting right into Steve’s ear. “I wish I could get my hands all over you.” His fingers fumbled on Steve’s hips. “I wish I could just touch all of you, or someone could, let you feel everything. You’re already close, aren’t you? So ready. I love it when you—”

Bucky cut off abruptly when Steve clenched his muscles tight around his dick, then let out a groan. He pulled Steve up higher on his knees, trying for a better angle, but it meant Steve couldn’t push into the pillow anymore. His dick thrust forward into empty air. Bucky let out a breathy laugh at Steve’s frustrated growl.

“You know,” Bucky drawled as he started moving again, dragging his hands over Steve’s ribs as he fucked into him slowly. “If your buddy Frank were here he could be sucking on your dick right now.”

“Bucky!” Steve’s whole body went shivery and tight. He pushed back hard, feeling his throat close up.

“Yeah, think about it,” Bucky said in a hoarse whisper, between breaths, still moving his hips just a little, shallow thrusts that pushed his dick exactly where Steve wanted it. “That way I could see your face while you’re getting a suckjob. I’m always too busy to just be looking at you, but I bet it’s a hell of a sight.”

Steve moaned, his face pressed into the mattress. Bucky’s words were almost enough to make him come right then, but he’d been working on holding off. He held himself very still and took a couple of deep breaths. But Bucky kept _moving_ , kept _talking_.

“Oh my God, Steve, you feel so good.” He was louder now, his voice gruff, and Steve could tell he was getting close too. “What does it feel like for you? I wanna—” His thrusts were long and slow now, pulling almost all the way out before driving deep again. “I want you to do this to me, I wanna feel you inside there like this is, so good and hot and tight—”

Steve came hard, his dick jerking up against his belly. He froze, but Bucky kept up his slow, steady thrusting, breathing little encouraging whispers that Steve was too far gone to understand. He stayed on all fours, catching his breath. It was almost enough to get him hard again right away, feeling Bucky moving inside him, his fingers clutching at Steve’s skin, hearing the groan he let out as he came.

He flopped onto the bed next to Steve and blew into his ear. Steve ducked his head away from the tickling breath, then turned to grin at Bucky.

“Come here,” Bucky said.

Steve shifted closer to rest his head on Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s hand paused briefly on Steve’s shoulder, then stroked up and down his arm. Steve tilted his face up to look at Bucky. He was smiling a little, his eyes closed. He was obviously tired, but somehow he didn’t look quite as exhausted as he had earlier in the bathtub.

“So . . .” Steve said.

“Yeah?”

“I told you what I did with the silk." Steve pushed himself up on one elbow. “But you never told me what you did.”

“Mm?” Bucky opened his eyes and blinked up at Steve a couple of times. “Oh, yeah . . . well.” He licked his lips, then nuzzled at Steve’s neck. “I told you I carried it around in my underwear.”

“Yeah.” Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and rocked him a little closer. “What else?”

“You’re right, that wasn’t all. There was one night I woke up—I told you. I had dreams about you. It was like you were right there in my head. Maybe because I wrote your letters before I went to sleep. I had this one dream that was pretty good. We were back home. Coming out of the movies. You were . . . you had me get down on my knees. You told me what to do.”

“In your dream, I was telling you what to do?” Steve twisted his chin so he could look down at Bucky skeptically. “How does that even work?”

"I dunno. You tell me."

Steve thought about it. “You said that in your letters too, that you sometimes like being told what to do.” He looked down, but Bucky’s eyes had fallen closed again. “Hm.” Steve said it thoughtfully, hoping to get Bucky interested. He wasn’t ready to lose him to sleep just yet.

At first, Bucky didn’t react, and Steve figured he was just too tired to take the bait. But then one eye opened a crack. “What?”

“What do you mean you like being told what to do? Do you mean in bed?”

Bucky didn’t answer, but both his eyes were open.

“Cause there’s something I kind of wanted to ask you,” Steve said.

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky’s arm tightened around Steve’s rib cage.

“Yeah.” Steve lowered his head until his lips were right next to Bucky’s ear and whispered. “When we’re alone like this, and you’re inside me . . .”

“Yeah?”

Bucky had shoved up close, and the word came out a little breathy. Steve ran his hand down Bucky’s side, over his hip, and down to his thigh, grabbing his leg and pulling it over his own.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, impatient, nudging his hips into Steve’s. “What do you want me to do?”

Steve gave Bucky a lingering kiss, then stayed close, looking deep into his eyes. “Never, _ever_ mention farm animals.”

It wasn’t very often that Bucky was at a loss for words, but his mouth actually hung open for a few seconds before his eyes narrowed. He poked his finger hard into Steve’s ribs, but he let Steve steal another kiss before hiding his face under a pillow.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Buck?” Steve laughed. “I mean, I didn’t know that horses made you—”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s voice came out muffled from underneath the pillow. “I don’t know what the hell I’m saying at times like that.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Steve yanked the pillow away. Bucky was trying hard not to smile. “Cause sometimes I wonder if I’m doing it right if you can still think enough to talk so much.”

“I’m not really thinking. That’s the problem.”

“But—”

“It’s a good thing.”

“Okay.”

Steve let the pillow flop back down onto Bucky’s face and, once he’d tucked it back under his head and rolled onto his side, spooned up behind him.

“Good night,” Steve whispered.

Bucky made a grumpy-sounding noise, but he nestled himself back against Steve’s body.

* * *

 Steve woke after a just a few hours. He didn’t seem to need as much sleep as he used to, and he had to go to the bathroom. Bucky was snoring lightly, so Steve carefully lifted his arm and slid out of the bed.

Afterwards, he felt too wide awake to get back in bed—he would only wake Bucky anyhow, if he did. Instead, he dug his sketchbook out of his bag and pulled the ragged armchair closer so that he could sit in it with his feet propped up on the end of the bed.

He traced the lines of Bucky’s body with his eyes, fully intending to mimic them with his pencil, but Bucky was distractingly beautiful. Steve could see his point about watching—Steve had made a surreptitious habit of watching Bucky for years, and most of the time it had very little to do with art. And Steve had never been ashamed of his old body. Not exactly. But there was a big difference between not being ashamed and wanting to show off, even now that he looked so different.

Steve shook off his thoughts and picked up his pencil. He’d thought about how he wanted a chance to draw Bucky, and he was right there in front of him, and still for a change. Steve should take advantage of the opportunity. He lost himself in his work until Bucky started to stir.

Steve watched him wake up. His eyes stayed half-closed, in protest to the growing light. He stretched in little fitful movements, pedaling his legs inside the blankets, kicking them off, arching his back, yawning, squinting, settling with little smacks of his mouth, smiling sleepily at Steve. His eyes were swollen; he looked hazy. Once he’d finished stretching, he pillowed his head sideways on one shoulder, scratching at his bare chest with the other hand before he let it drift down to rest on his stomach, which moved up and down with slow breath.

“Mm, not up yet,” he murmured.

Steve smiled when Bucky swiped at the corner of his mouth where he’d drooled a little. Then Bucky’s hand settled on his stomach again. His head flopped down sideways. “C’mere,” he said.

“I will in a minute . . .” It was hard to say no to Bucky, but the way he looked in the light—Steve couldn’t let this go. “I’m drawing. I have a great subject.”

“Yeah, ‘sme, I’m a great subject.”

“The best. You look so good, Bucky.”

“Mm, okay.” Bucky’s eyes didn’t even open, but a pleased, sleepy smile spread across his face, and he slid his knee in a little, rubbing his foot against the opposite leg. “Drawing me. S’gonna be so good. You’re gonna be a famous artist.”

Steve drew the shadow under Bucky’s cheekbone, the swell of his bottom lip, and turned his pencil sideways to catch the shading under his chin, which shifted ever so slightly as he spoke. Then the contour of his neck, the cozy way he’d hiked up his shoulders. The slope of his chest, the outline of his bottom rib just visible.

“You want me to pose?” Bucky said.

“No, you just lie there looking like you do. You can keep talking.”

The muscles of his thighs, the vulnerability of his scraped shin.

“So you’re gonna be a famous artist in Hollywood and we’ll do cartoons,” Bucky said, “and I’ll write ‘em. It’ll be all warm and gold like this every morning forever with the sun on the sand and it’ll be just . . .” He yawned again; it turned into a sigh. He moved his hand down to scratch unselfconsciously at his balls, then shifted his hand back to where it had been, over the rise and fall of his stomach, so the continuity of the pose would make it easier for Steve to draw. “We can just do whatever we want . . . and wake up late if we want and have ice cream for breakfast or . . .” He trailed off.

Steve picked up his eraser; he wanted to capture this new movement of Bucky’s lips.

“Brooklyn’s an island so it’s like it’s a whole nother coast or continent or something,” Bucky said. “California. Dunno why I think about it so much . . . maybe ‘cause I always wished I could take you somewhere where it’s always summer . . . or I just like Hollywood, the idea of it all glamor like that . . .”

After a few more strokes, Steve surveyed the page. The drawing wasn’t polished, but he liked it better for that. The remaining roughness of it captured Bucky’s sleepiness better than smooth lines.

Steve rose and carried the paper over to the bed. “Here’s some glamor for you. Take a look at that.” He set the drawing on Bucky’s bare belly. “Real Hollywood material, huh?”

Another grin spread across Bucky’s face, even before he opened his eyes, then grew as he looked at the drawing. “Yeah, I am a prize catch.”

Steve sat on the bed, his hip bumping against Bucky’s thigh. “You are, and a model model.” As soon as Steve said it, he regretted it. He knew that Bucky would smile at the word play—and he did—but it had been Frank who’d said that to Steve back when they’d first sat down to sketch one another. It made Steve feel disloyal all over again, though he knew it was silly. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“The whole Army yacht club wanted to get on board.” Bucky’s gaze flicked over to Steve, and his smile turned wicked. “But enough about me. What do _you_ think about me?"

Steve laughed at the old standby. “Come on, Buck. All this time we’ve known each other, and you still don’t know what I think of you?”

Bucky shrugged, and his eyes slid back to the sketch. The wicked grin was gone. In spite of Bucky’s swagger and flirting, maybe he wasn’t all confidence.

Steve shifted on the bed so he could look at Bucky’s face. “You know, I guess I never realized how good I’ve gotten at hiding it. I did it for a long time. So now I’ve gotta change that habit. Start telling you what I really think.”

Bucky peeked at Steve out of the corner of one eye before returning his attention to the paper in his hand.

“I’m particularly qualified to judge.” Steve tried to make his tone as airy and pretentious as he could. And it worked—Bucky laughed.

“You are, are you?”

“Oh yeah, as an artist. You know, the symmetry of your form, the contrast between your dark hair, your fair skin. And those eyes.” Steve leaned down and ran his hand over Bucky’s knee, then bent his head to kiss his thigh. “And your nice strong legs. And this—I like this part right here.”

Steve brushed his lips across the thin skin right where Bucky’s leg met his body. Bucky squirmed a little at that, ticklish.

“That’s as an artist. Right.” But the remark came out sounding a lot less smart than intended because Bucky was breathless.

“Mm-hm. There’s a lot here for an artist’s eye to appreciate, you see. Flat stomach.” Steve pressed a kiss there too. “Good shoulders. And your collarbones have a good straight line to them.”

“My collarbones?”

“See, you don’t understand art, Buck.” Steve pushed himself up until his face was level with Bucky’s. “And your _mouth_. God, your mouth.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned—”

Steve cut Bucky off with a kiss.

“But you know, as much as I like all that, that isn’t what I love best about you. I love that you’re kind. I love that you’re brave. I love that you’re _smart_ , even though you pretend not to be sometimes.”

“Steve—”

“I love that you understand trigonometry. I love that you wrote me letters, trying to make me feel better, even though you were the one over here while I was safe at home.” Steve kissed him again. “I love that you make me laugh. I love your jokes and your stupid puns, even when they make me groan. I love that you try to get me to be a little less serious—to enjoy things more.”

Bucky was silent, and Steve worried that maybe he’d gone overboard with the mushy talk, but then Bucky turned and shoved up close, wrapping his arms around him in a tight, hard hug, burying his face in Steve’s neck.

“I love that you’re good to your family,” Steve said. “I love your family, actually.”

Bucky snorted, muffled. “Yeah, but a little goes a long way.”

“What do you mean?” Steve pulled back so he could see Bucky’s face.

“Just thought that was another good thing about California. I mean it’ll be good ‘cause it’ll be a new place, you know? Not all my family all around in our business. They can visit sometimes, but mostly, it could be just us.”

Steve always liked hearing Bucky yammer—making up his stories, and he’d encouraged him to talk about California before, hoping it would keep him still long enough to finish the drawing. But now Bucky was talking about family visiting. It made it sound like a plan, not just a daydream. Steve didn’t want to push, but he liked that Bucky was willing to think about what they might do, after the war. Anything was better than when Bucky got twitchy and cagey, and this idea? It sounded pretty damn good.

As Steve’s arms tightened around Bucky, he shoved away. “Wait, you’re gonna mess it up.” Bucky’d picked up the sketch again, and he stretched out his arm to keep it from getting crumpled. “You know, I think you’ve improved a lot, even just since I shipped out.”

“You think? I guess I did have a lot of time on my hands. Practice makes perfect and all that.”

Bucky nudged Steve with his knee. “You should send this to your buddy Frank, show him how good you’re getting.”

Steve looked at Bucky. He was joking, but he meant it too. Maybe Bucky was jealous and wanted to stake his claim—Steve didn’t mind that at all. But Steve didn’t want Frank to think they were shoving their happiness in his face.

“We should thank him, don’t you think?” Bucky said. “For teaching you all those recipes?”

Now it didn’t sound territorial, it sounded flirtatious. But Steve kind of liked that too. Bucky had always been a big flirt, and Frank would probably love it.

“He did always say he had a great appreciation for the human form,” Steve said. “He’d appreciate _your_ form, that’s for sure.”

Bucky was grinning. “Maybe if we really take that road trip when we get back to the States, we could look him up.”

Steve couldn’t help but think about what Bucky’d said last night: _If your buddy Frank were here . . ._

“What’s that look for?” Bucky put the drawing on the table and turned toward Steve. “You nut, it’s not for me. I was just thinking about you. You’ve never been with anyone else.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

Bucky kissed him then, but he started talking again the second their lips parted. “You _think_ so, but you don’t really know. How are you going to really know how great I am without any basis for comparison? And I like the idea of you just . . . getting all the attention you deserve.”

Steve balked at that. “Why should I get all the attention?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“All that stuff you were saying about wanting there to be more hands on me.” Steve could feel himself blushing, but he didn’t let himself stop. “You say _I_ deserve all this attention. Well, you deserve it too. There’s stuff we haven’t tried that I think you’d like.”

“Yeah? More recipes?”

“Yeah, like last night. You said you wanted to know what it felt like.”

There was a pause. Steve almost jumped in to take it back but he made himself wait, giving Bucky time to think.

“I just said that while I was all carried away,” Bucky said slowly. “Because you seem to like it so much.”

“Yeah, I do.” Steve could say that without blushing. “Maybe it should be your turn to just lie there and let me do stuff to you.”

“You don’t just lie there when I’m fucking you.”

Steve liked it when Bucky said that. Just the word in his mouth made Steve feel hot all over.

“You actually wiggle around a lot,” Bucky said.

Steve laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Wiggle?”

Bucky bumped Steve’s temple with his forehead. “You know what I mean.”

“God, that’s—wiggle? I mean, wow, that’s real sexy, Buck.”

Bucky was laughing by now too, a real deep belly laugh, and it made Steve happy to hear it. It made him laugh too. How long had been since he’d just let go and laughed? It seemed like he only let himself relax enough to really laugh on the rare occasions when he and Bucky had true privacy. Steve had laughed a lot more often back in California with Frank, and the realization made Steve’s laughter dry right up. Why wasn’t he laughing more with Bucky?

The time with Frank hadn’t seemed very important. Maybe that was why he’d been able to have some fun. Now, Steve thought too much. As happy as he was to be here with Bucky, there was so much to occupy his mind—plans, missions, figuring out what he was supposed to _be_ as Captain America, what he was supposed to do. He was always conscious of how he was coming across to the other commandos—what they thought of him. And on top of all that still trying to be careful, to keep Bucky safe from petty bureaucracy at least, because he couldn’t shake the constant dread that there wasn’t enough he could do to keep Bucky safe in the field.

And for years Steve hadn’t spent enough time just enjoying Bucky’s company—wondering if Bucky could see right through him and just never said anything to spare his feelings because he could never feel the same way. And all that worry had been for nothing. Steve had had it all wrong. Bucky been feeling the same way the whole time, and now Steve knew it. And they were together and so _lucky_ , for all that Bucky didn’t like when Steve talked about luck. Bucky did his best to make Steve enjoy things—why was Steve’s first impulse to resist?

“Okay.” Steve propped himself up on one elbow. “Okay, I’ve got a deal for you.”

“What kind of deal?”

“I’ll let you send that drawing to Frank—”

“Yeah?” Bucky squirmed in Steve’s arms, already reaching to retrieve the drawing from the table.

“Wait a sec. I’ll let you send it, but only if . . . ”

Bucky was watching Steve warily now. “If what?”

Steve thought about how he’d felt a few minutes before when Bucky’d said _fuck_. If he liked when Bucky said it, that probably meant Bucky would like hearing him say it too, even if he didn’t usually curse quite like that. Maybe _especially_ because he didn’t usually curse like that.

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s neck, holding him still and locking their eyes together.

“I’ll let you send that drawing to Frank,” Steve said, “and you can even write a note on the back if you want—thank him personally. But only if you let me fuck you.”

Bucky looked at him with big, round eyes, and Steve worried he’d gone too far. But then Bucky’s tense body relaxed, and he moved one leg up against Steve’s. “You drive a hard bargain, Captain,” he said. He paused, licking his lips, and flicked his eyes down for a second. Then he looked back up at Steve. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Steve said, making sure he meant it.

“It feels good, right? It felt good when you had just your finger in there.” Bucky looked at him dead in the eye when he said that, and Steve felt his face heat up again.

“It feels _really_ good,” Steve said.

“What’s it like?” Bucky asked. His voice came out more quietly now. He had his leg all way the way over Steve; his hips were moving slowly. He wasn’t quite hard yet, but Steve was, just feeling Bucky’s skin against him, soft and clean from bathwater.

“I don’t—” Steve wasn’t sure how to describe things the way Bucky wanted him to. “Why don’t you let me show you? Then you can tell me.”

Bucky shut his eyes and nodded, starting to smile. “I’ll give you a running commentary. Assuming I can talk.”

The jar was still on the bedside table, and after Steve grabbed it he cupped it in one hand to warm it as he turned back to kiss Bucky’s upturned lips.

“You ready?” Steve whispered.

“Yeah, come on already.”

“Just need to figure out what I’m doing.”

“You know what you’re doing,” Bucky said. “You did this before.”

“Yeah, but not . . . as the means to an end.”

“What did Frank tell you?”

Steve laughed a little. “He said if it hurts, don’t do it.”

Bucky opened his eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really.” Steve wanted to be honest, but he didn’t want to kill the mood any more than he already had. “A little. But not if you go slow.”

“Okay then.” Bucky’s eyes drifted closed again. “What else did he say?”

Steve felt his cheeks flush, remembering the moment in the car, imagining Bucky fucking him with Frank sitting right there, talking about recipes. “He mentioned lubrication.”

“Well, we got that. That’s a key element in our recipe.” Bucky pushed himself up on his elbows, just to give Steve a teasing grin. “I can’t believe you brought Vaseline from fucking California.”

Steve smiled as he opened the jar and pushed a couple of fingers into it.

“You do know we got plenty of it in the Army, right?” Bucky said

The way he was rambling, Steve knew he was nervous.

“I mean it’s great you don’t wanna take up the Army supply,” Bucky continued. “But honestly most of the brass don’t put it to much better use.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” Steve was surprised at how insistent he sounded, but he had nothing to hide. “Constantly. Once I thought about it—well, I just couldn’t stop.”

Bucky threw back his head with a groan. Steve had managed to get him hot just by talking so fervently, but had only a split second to be pleased with himself before Bucky whacked his head on the bedpost.

“Geez, are you okay?” Steve reached up and touched the crown of Bucky’s head gently.

Bucky grimaced, but it turned into a smile again. “Yeah, I’m just an idiot. Don’t stop.”

“Okay.”

Just to be safe, though, Steve sat up and grabbed Bucky’s leg—his slick fingers skating over his skin—and used it to yank him lower on the bed so he couldn’t hit his head again. Then Steve pulled Bucky over onto his side, hooking his leg up over his own hip so that he could reach around and slide his fingers between the cheeks of Bucky’s ass.

He watched Bucky’s face carefully as he moved his fingers, not pushing inside yet. He waited until Bucky relaxed, his neck bending back and his mouth going slack, then slowly slid one finger into the tight ring of muscle.

“Just relax,” Steve whispered.

“You’re one to talk. _You_ relax.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll try.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he shifted his hips, and Steve actually felt Bucky’s body open more for him. He pushed a little deeper, trying not to imagine what it would feel like—so hot and tight. His dick was already jumping up eagerly at the thought of it.

“Good?”

Bucky nodded. Steve slid his finger in and out a few times, noticing the way the movement made Bucky’s eyebrows travel slowly up towards his hairline.

All the times Bucky had done this to him, and the times he’d hoped to try it himself on Bucky, he hadn’t expected this feeling of responsibility. As excited as he was, he wanted to keep things slow, to make it really good for Bucky. So he watched Bucky’s face as he pulled almost all the way out, then carefully nudged in with a second finger. The corner of Bucky’s mouth pinched up—not quite a wince, so Steve kept going. Bucky was very still at first, but as Steve moved his hand, Bucky’s hips shifted again.

“Okay?” Steve asked.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s voice sounded odd. Not like he was uncomfortable, but he sounded too . . . thoughtful. And he was quiet. Steve wanted to get him to where he wasn’t able to think, rambling nonsense.

But Steve was being thoughtful too—he had to try to shake that off. He suddenly remembered how much Bucky’d liked it when he’d told him all that mushy stuff, and about the party. How hot he’d gotten when Steve had teased him about getting told what to do in bed. He _liked_ it when Steve talked. Hell, he’d just asked Steve to tell him how it felt. So maybe Steve should talk more.

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.” But there’d been a slight pause before he’d answered.

Steve swallowed, still sliding his fingers slowly in and out. “I love it when you do this to me.”

Bucky’s mouth spread into a grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it makes me feel—” Steve gave Bucky a hard kiss. “Hot. I mean, warm all over. Thinking about what you’re gonna do next.”

Bucky was watching him now, his eyelids at half-mast, that lazy smile still playing at his lips. His tongue flicked out to wet them before he spoke. “Is that what you’re thinking about? What I’m planning? ‘Cause I’m just trying to figure out what _you_ want me to do . . . oh. Keep going. Tell me more about what it’s gonna be like, what it’s like.”

“I want you to like this, Buck. I mean, if you like it _half_ as much as I do . . . I don’t even know how to tell you how much I like it. I like feeling you push into me. God, I can’t wait to—but I want to make sure you’re nice and ready for me.”

Steve’s face was burning, but Bucky’s hips were tilting against his hand now, and his hard dick was prodding at Steve’s belly.

“Doing pretty good,” Bucky said, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, then letting it go. “So far.”

Steve made himself keep talking.

“Though sometimes . . . I kinda like when I’m not so ready, so I can really feel you. You feel so big, and I even—” Steve wasn’t sure he should admit this, and he had to whisper. “I even kinda like it when it hurts a little.”

He’d been worried Bucky would be upset, but Bucky just shifted against his hand and huffed out a breath, then ran his fingertips lightly over Steve’s arm. “Why?” he said. “I mean I never mean to—I don’t wanna—”

Steve pushed back, drawing his fingers out of Bucky.

“No, keep going,” Bucky said, throwing his leg further over Steve, crooking his knee, pulling him back. His fingers slipped over Steve’s arm, too, like he was tracing designs there that Steve couldn’t make out. Trying to puzzle out a code. “I think I get it—the way you get—lost in it sorta . . .”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He slid his hand back around, sliding his fingers into Bucky again. Bucky sighed, shifting against him. “It’s like it’s so much feeling it’s all good, even when it kind of hurts. Which is never a lot.”

“Yeah,” Bucky echoed, a reply to the words and, it looked like, somewhat to the feeling; he rocked his hips against Steve’s hand and shifted forward so the tip of his dick grazed the skin on Steve’s stomach, just light brushes that made them both breathe a little faster. “Yeah it’s—no, it’s because you know it’s real this way, because it’s not too easy, it’s . . . fuck, yeah, Steve.”

Bucky groaned, and his head fell back. Steve pushed himself up on one elbow, leaning over to murmur right into Bucky’s ear. He nudged Bucky’s leg up higher on his hip so that he could push in deeper with his fingers.

Bucky took another breath. “And I’d put up with a lot worse. For this kinda payoff, what you’re gonna . . . what we’re gonna . . .”

“I think it was easier for me, the first time doing this,” Steve said. “I knew how good it could be.”

“You—” Bucky broke off and swallowed hard. “You trust Frank that much?”

“No.” Steve didn’t want to talk about Frank anymore.

Bucky’s heel was digging into the back of Steve’s thigh. “Then why was it easier?”

“Cause I tried it, okay?” Steve could feel the blush spreading over his face and down his neck. “I wanted to make sure I could find that particular spot, so . . .”

“Oh my God, Steve.” Bucky _stared_ , the grip he’d had on Steve’s arm suddenly slacking. “You . . . you really listened when I told you to go have yourself a sundae, you really fucking . . . oh my God. Thinking about it. You trying that, thinking about me, making yourself feel _good_ , like I always . . .” His voice grated in his throat in a way that made Steve need to swallow, too, and will himself not to start thrusting forward into the heat between their bodies. He focused on the slow push of his fingers into Bucky, instead.

“Fuck, Steve.” Bucky’s voice was a throaty whisper now. “Keep going. What’d you do? I wanna . . . I wish I’d been there . . .”

“I wished you were there, too.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have . . . what’d you _do_? _Tell_ me. Did you just . . . use your fingers, like you’re doing now, or . . .”

Steve swallowed. “I overheard some of the girls in the chorus talking backstage once.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve hadn’t imagined that girls would talk as shamelessly as they had, and he was pretty sure they’d known he could hear them. “They said—well, some of them talked about using—” Steve broke off and shook his head. “I thought about it, I guess. Like the silk. I thought it would be easier to pretend it was _you_ , but it was too embarrassing. I just—I used my fingers.”

“But you thought about . . . oh, _fuck_.” Bucky’s fingers clamped on to Steve’s upper arm again and he thrust forward a little, rocking back and forth on Steve’s hand. “You. Fuck, I dunno if I would’ve even thought about . . . you’re amazing, Steve, you’re fucking _amazing_ , the way you just go ahead, the things you—ah—do . . . the things you do for me, or us . . .”

Wow, Bucky really did like Steve talking. If Bucky liked it that much, Steve would do his best. “Do you remember last time?” he whispered.

“Do I—? Of course, I fucking remember—God, Steve, don’t stop.”

Steve’s fingers were sliding easily now, and he wondered if he should add a third.

“C’mon, don’t stop.” Bucky panted. “Tell me more.”

“I really liked last time.”

Bucky lunged forward and plunged his tongue into Steve’s mouth. “Tell me,” he said against Steve’s lips.

“When you were on top of me, behind me, and I was so far gone I couldn’t even hold myself up. You just—”

“Yeah, Steve.”

“—hooked your hands under my armpits and grabbed my shoulders, flat against my back, fucking me so hard—”

“ _Fuck_.”

“—it was like you couldn’t stop, and it felt so good, every inch of you. And you sort of . . . pushed my legs apart, with your knees, spreading my legs, and with your hands on my shoulders. It was like I was _yours_. I was—”

“C’mon, I’m ready.” Bucky’s head was flung back again, his lips parted.

“Now?”

“Yeah, come on.”

Slowly, Steve pulled his fingers away. “How do you want to—I mean, I could get behind you, like—”

“No, I wanna look at you.”

Steve dove in for a quick kiss, then tugged Bucky into the middle of the bed. “Here, lie down.” The moment Bucky was flat on his back, Steve was on top of him for another kiss, but he didn’t let himself thrust against Bucky’s hips the way he wanted to. He pushed himself lower just as Bucky was raising his leg and took a knock from Bucky’s knee pretty hard in his ribcage, but he just grabbed Bucky’s leg so he could hitch it up over his shoulder, lifting Bucky’s hips right off the bed.

Bucky was watching through lowered eyelids, and his arms were flung carelessly out to each side. The crook of his knee was a little sweaty on Steve’s shoulder. Steve felt ready to explode, but as he lined himself up, he took a few steadying breaths and reminded himself to go slow.

Steve pushed carefully, his eyes locked on Bucky’s until he had to close them—stopping for a few more deep breaths. It was so good, so tight. He wanted to move, but he wouldn’t until Bucky was ready. Another slow push, and Bucky let out a noise that wasn’t quite a gasp.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” But Bucky’s voice sounded strained.

Steve started to back off, but Bucky nudged him with his heel—the one up over his shoulder—so he let his hips move forward another fraction of an inch before freezing in place again. It felt amazing. Hot and perfect.

“God, Buck, you feel good.”

“ _You_ feel . . .”

Bucky moved then, rocking his hips, taking Steve in just a little deeper, like he wanted it. Steve couldn’t stop himself any longer. His whole body shook as he came, his dick jerking hard, but he kept his hips still—held back the wild thrusts that he desperately wanted.

He stayed frozen in place even once he’d caught his breath. “Sorry.” He looked down—he’d barely managed to get in halfway before losing control.

“S’okay,” Bucky said quietly.

But he was disappointed—it was obvious. He tried to move his leg away from where it was hooked over Steve’s shoulder.

“No, wait. Don’t move.” Steve pushed himself up a little, leaning on one arm. He hadn’t gone completely soft, but he was smaller, so when he shifted, he slipped in farther. “God, that’s—just give me a second.” He wrapped his free hand around Bucky’s dick, stroking it lightly—just enough to keep him ready. “See what you do to me?”

Bucky opened his eyes and looked up, a hint of a smile on his face. Slowly, Steve pushed his hips forward.

“Hey,” Steve said. “Kiss me.” He leaned down as well as he could, balanced on one hand like he was. It folded Bucky’s body practically in half, but he grabbed the back of Steve’s head to keep him close and, when their mouths met, sucked on his tongue.

Steve tried another little thrust. Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and he tilted his hips up to meet Steve’s.

“That’s it,” Steve whispered. “Wiggle for me.”

A snort of laughter erupted out of Bucky. Steve was afraid the way it made Bucky’s muscles tense up might push him right out, but he was already getting hard again, and the feeling of Bucky’s body tightening around him only made him more so. He was being so careful, determined to go slowly, but he couldn’t help shoving his hips just a little closer.

Bucky made a strange noise, deep in his throat, and then said, “Oh.” It was the first sound he’d really made since Steve started moving inside him. He’d been unusually quiet. Steve paused.

“Buck? You okay? Is it too fast?”

“Yeah. No.” Bucky shook his head. “I mean, it’s good. It’s really good.”

Steve pushed up so he could see Bucky’s face better. “You sure?”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s head with both hands and tugged him down for another kiss. His mouth spasmed in the middle of it and made an ‘o’. He took a deep breath afterwards, then another.

When he spoke, it was in a gasping, sort of dreamy way. “Just keep . . . I can really feel you. I can almost imagine I’m feeling what you’re feeling.”

Steve strained to hold himself back—he wouldn’t let himself push forward too hard. But God, he wanted to.

“I can feel you sort of all warm and throbbing in there. There’s so much of you all over. It’s a lot—what’s that you said—it’s a lot much—Jesus Steve, a _lot much_ , you’re too fuckin’ _much_ —”

“Too much?” Steve tried to stop, but couldn’t keep his hips from rocking forward. “Bucky?”

Bucky’s knee hooked around his upper arm now flexed, and drew him in. “Not too much. Keep going. _Please_.”

One last push and Steve’s hips were pressed against Bucky’s skin. He held himself still, looking down at Bucky, who was staring right back at him. It was impossible to tell what Bucky was thinking. Then Steve’s hips twitched—he couldn’t help it—and Bucky smiled.

“C'mon,” he said. He voice was hoarse. “I’m good. Don’t stop.”

Steve started to move then, still deliberate but not quite so careful as before. Bucky was relaxed now, but it was still tight and hot.

“God, Bucky, it’s—”

One of Bucky’s legs was still pulled up over Steve’s shoulder. Steve pushed up on his knees a little and grabbed Bucky’s other leg, tucking his hand in behind Bucky’s knee. Steve could move better like this, sliding farther out before thrusting back in.

“Yeah, Steve, that’s—”

It felt impossibly good, and Steve had to concentrate on slow, steady movements, wanting it to last.

“God, you look good like this, Stevie—fucking me.”

“Bucky—”

Steve was close again already, so he let one of Bucky’s legs drop so that he could wrap that hand around his dick.

“That’s good, yeah, touch me. C’mon, harder.”

Steve tightened his hand and gave a couple of rough strokes, but right away Bucky arched his back, shoving himself down on Steve.

“No, _harder_.”

That was enough to push Steve over the edge. He didn’t fight it, trying not to clutch too hard at Bucky’s dick but letting his body move as wildly as he’d wanted to before, shoving his hips forward hard as the first wave of pleasure hit him. Bucky cried out as Steve’s pace increased, and he thrust over and over into the slick heat of Bucky’s body until they were both gasping. Steve gave himself only a moment to catch his breath before again tightening his grip. A few sliding motions of Steve’s hand, and Bucky was coming with a whine, splattering his belly, his muscles clenching around Steve’s sensitive dick.

Steve lowered Bucky gently down onto the bed, bending over to press a kiss to his chest. He let his forehead rest there for a moment before lifting his head. He watched Bucky’s face for a tell-tale wince as he pulled slowly out, but Bucky’s expression—kind of dreamy—was undisturbed.

“Wash up?” Steve said.

Bucky groaned, but he pulled his leg aside from where it was still hooked over Steve’s arm. Steve stood, leaving Bucky sprawled on the mattress, shaking his head a little.

“Okay,” he said, still breathless. “I see why you like that.”

Steve paused in the bathroom doorway. “I like anything I do with you.”

“You definitely liked fucking me. Wow.” Bucky eyed him from the bed, and Steve ducked away, leaning over to rinse himself off with the now-cool leftover bathwater.

“Yeah,” Steve said. He wondered if it would ever get easier to talk about this stuff. “I did.”

“See, trying new recipes is good. It’s fun. Trying new things . . .”

Steve took a clean washcloth, ran it under hot water in the sink, and brought it back to the bed. Bucky reached for it, but Steve ignored his outstretched hand, sitting down on the edge of the bed to swipe it over the mess on Bucky’s belly himself, then sliding it over his dick. Bucky shivered at the touch, then grabbed the cloth.

“Let me do the rest.”

Steve turned his head away to let Bucky clean himself up.

“Duck,” Bucky said.

Steve turned back and bent his head just in time as Bucky lobbed the balled-up washcloth back into the bathroom. It hit the tile floor with a wet slap.

“We’ll get it later.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was perfectly happy with idea of crawling back in bed rather than getting up again just to make things tidy. He’d assumed that Bucky would be sleepy, but he was wide awake. He flung himself back on the bed, one knee loosely crooked over the other leg.

“So I guess I got a letter to write,” Bucky said, already reaching for the paper on the table next to him.

Steve put a hand on Bucky’s chest. “You don’t have to do it right now.”

“No, no,” Bucky said. “A deal’s a deal.”

“Am I gonna to have to make a deal with you every time I wanna do that?”

Bucky stopped then and looked Steve right in the eye. “No. Come on, of course not. It was good.”

“Yeah?”

“You were there, right? I think it was pretty obvious—”

“Yeah, okay.”

After a soft kiss, Bucky gave Steve a sly look.

“First thing,” he said. “I cheerfully volunteer as unit censor. Sound good?”

Steve pulled himself up straight and tilted his head just so. “Excellent, Sergeant,” he said in his Captain America voice. “Very self-sacrificing.”

Bucky grinned. “That’s me, taking on any old job no one wants. Okay. So what should I write?” He stretched languorously on the bed, giving Steve another good look at him. Then, with one raised eyebrow, he reached over and plucked the sketch off the table. “Gimme one of those pencils.”

There was a nervous twinge deep in Steve’s belly as he crossed the room to fetch a pencil from his bag, but he handed it to Bucky without any objection. He set to work immediately, not rushing, but writing steadily for several moments before handing the paper to Steve with another of his devilish grins.

 _Dear Frank,_  
_I hear you’re a pretty talented chef. You definitely gave Steve and me some inspiration. A man of the world such as yourself ought to understand that our Steve is a bit traditional in his way and so I’m sorry you didn’t get to sample the full menu. But I can vouch on his behalf that it is five-star quality. I’m not saying that to tease, either. You sound pretty fine yourself and I’d love to stop by there sometime if we’re ever in your neck of the woods. I hear you’re an appreciator of the human form and given that you do have such good taste, I figured you might like a clearer picture. Steve sure is talented, isn’t he? And he has a great subject too, if I do say so myself. I hope this picture lets you know what Steve was holding out for but now that we’ve gotten over the initial taste-test we’re more open to sharing the results, so to speak._  
_Yrs,_  
_Sgt. James B. Barnes_

It only took Steve a few moments to read the letter, but he kept his eyes fixed on it for a while afterward, just to get his surprise under control.

“Bucky.”

“Yeah?”

Steve finally tore his eyes off the paper. “You made it sound like—I mean, you as good as promise him—”

Bucky’s answering grin was hypnotizingly slow. He leaned back on the pillows with his hands behind his head, giving Steve a perfect view of him, head to toe. Steve was already getting hard again, and it was like Bucky was inviting him to look—it did nothing to help Steve think clearly.

“He’s good-looking, right?” Bucky said. “Maybe you should sketch him for me so I can see.”

Steve didn’t know how to answer, but he could feel himself blushing, which made Bucky laugh.

“And I assume he’s an okay guy, if you were palling around with him all that time.” Bucky shrugged. “So I just thought it’d be fun to meet him. Thank him properly.”

“But—”

“You said I could write him myself. You can’t go back on our deal. I kept up my end.”

It brought the moment vividly to mind: the tight heat, Bucky’s panting breaths and the way his hands had clutched at Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Don’t you want to visit your old pal Frank?” Bucky rubbed his hand over Steve’s stomach. “When we get home, you know, and take our road trip. We can try ice cream in every state. And maybe by the time we get all the way to California, we’ll be a little homesick and want some extra company.”

Steve couldn’t tell if Bucky was just trying to get a rise of him or if he really meant what he was saying. Finally, when Steve didn’t say anything for several beats, Bucky rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, Steve, it’s flirting. I think old Frank will get a kick out of it. Maybe it’ll never even happen.”

“Fine,” Steve said. He wanted to keep Bucky looking forward to fun stuff after the war, even if Bucky’s idea of fun sometimes made him a little skittish. “Fine, then I’ll just add a little note of my own.” He grabbed the pencil, then lay the drawing flat on the table, which was close enough to use as a desk when he was sitting on the edge of the bed. But he couldn’t think of anything to write. So he read Bucky’s note again.

Bucky rolled closer, wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist, and rested his cheek on Steve’s thigh. “It’s not a big deal. Just imagine what you’d say to him if he were right here. God, I wish he could see you right now.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Steve’s leg. “Your hair’s a mess. Your lips are all swollen from kissing.”

Steve was almost fully hard now. He grabbed Bucky’s hand and tried to push it toward his crotch, but Bucky laughed and slipped away to the foot of the bed. Steve leaned over, trying to catch him, but Bucky slid off the mattress and landed on the floor on his knees.

“Come here,” Steve said.

Bucky inched a little closer, still on his knees.

“C’mon, Buck, please?”

“If he were here . . .” Bucky came close enough to put his hand on Steve’s leg. He was staring at Steve’s straining erection. “He’d probably be on his knees, just like this, begging you to let him suck your—”

“Bucky!”

Bucky looked up at Steve through his eyelashes. “Yeah?”

Steve gave him a pleading look.

“Okay,” Bucky said, massaging Steve’s thigh. “Okay, I’ll take care of you. Just as soon as you write that letter.”

Steve groaned.

Steve was tempted to come up with something that would dismiss everything Bucky’d written as a joke, but Bucky would be really disappointed if he did that. He wanted Steve to play.

 _Dear Frank,_  
_Bucky wanted to thank you personally for telling me about those recipes, and I had to let him do it. I find it hard to say no to him. Maybe the sketch gives you an idea why. As Bucky writes, and as you already know, I am pretty traditional, but he’s got a lot of ideas about how to broaden my horizons. I’ve told him a little about you, and he’s eager to make your acquaintance. And I sure wouldn’t mind seeing you again—when I left I felt like we were a bit at odds and I sure would like a chance to make that up to you._

 _S_ teve paused and skimmed over what he’d just written. Maybe he should erase the last couple of sentences—it sounded like he was making promises too.

“Hurry up, Steve. I’m getting impatient.” Bucky pushed between Steve’s knees, kneeling between them, arms braced on his thighs, then leaned forward and swiped his tongue across Steve’s nipple.

Steve shifted on the bed. “I can’t think when you do that.” He’d dropped his pencil, which had rolled off the table and onto the floor.

Bucky slipped out of Steve’s grasp again. He retrieved the pencil and pressed it into Steve’s hand. “Finish up.”

 _Bucky and I are thinking about traveling when we get home, and if we make it out to California, we’ll be sure to look you up. Thanks for being a good friend to me while I was there._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Steve_

Steve threw the pencil down on the table and shoved the paper into Bucky’s hands. Another slow smile spread across his face as he read. Then he bent his head and took Steve’s dick between his lips.

* * *

 “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Bucky said. He was lying with his head pillowed on Steve’s stomach. When he spoke, Steve felt it as a vibration all through his own body. “Going to California. Look up Frank. Stop by the James Whale fella’s place. Skinny dipping somewhere bigger’n a bath tub . . . That wasn’t my best idea.”

“It could’ve worked.”

“Nah.” Bucky sighed. His breath tickled Steve’s stomach. “It was pretty dumb. It was a daydream I kind of let get away from me. You know something, Dugan says ice cream on the beach isn’t much fun anyhow? On account of the sand.”

“We could get a towel. Or a shovel.”

“The man with the plan,” Bucky said. “See. I knew you’d figure it out.”

He shifted to look up at Steve; Steve tipped his chin down to his own chest so he could stare back. They looked at each other unblinking for some time, like staring contests they’d had as kids. Bucky always tried to make faces and widen his eyes when they did that, to get Steve to laugh. Steve stared back, now, as sternly as he could.

“I’m figuring lots of things out,” he said.

“You’re doing good. You’re doing real good.”

Bucky’s eyelids were drooping, now, and he lost the staring contest by default when he yawned.

“C’mere,” Steve said. “Come up here.”

Bucky crawled obligingly up his body and curled up under his arm, turning to yawn again, this time into the crook of Steve’s shoulder. Steve pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“You cold?” They had made a mess out of the bed. The blankets were kicked down to the far end.

“Nah.” Bucky squeezed tighter in against him. And, though he was obviously sleepy, he didn’t stop talking. Sometimes he talked them both right into sleep, words turning into nonsense as he drifted off. “I was thinking about that party. If I’d’a been there, I’d have pushed you into the pool.” He shifted against Steve, nudging him over.

“Jerk.” Steve rocked his body back into Bucky’s. He’d already thought about it—if Bucky’d been there, he wouldn’t have needed much of a push.

“‘S’okay. I’d jump in right after. We’d be in there together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to beta [stripyjamjar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stripyjamjar/pseuds/stripyjamjar). And to reader and commenter [TSylvestris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TSylvestris/pseuds/TSylvestris) for pointing out that 'sand gets everywhere' when you share a sundae on the beach. Hope you don't mind our giving that great line to Dugan. Thanks also to all our fantastic commenters.


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